


Tiny Bits of Fluff and Stuff

by bondlikejames96



Series: Anya Grace Hawke [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect
Genre: A little fluff!!, Angst, Cooking, Dawn is a cinnamon roll and is NOT happy about Kirkwall let me tell ya, Drabble, F/M, Hawke is clumsy af, Massages, Post-Trespasser, Sad Cullen, Shakarian - Freeform, Short, Slight Trespasser spoilers in ch.4, Sweet Moments, Tall Hawke, Tumblr Prompt, but why does fenris still have those corpses lying in his house, cooking together, everything else is safe though, for now, honestly, oghren is a stinky stinky man, tiny fenris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondlikejames96/pseuds/bondlikejames96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of shorts and prompts from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Me In (A&F)

**Author's Note:**

> In the Chapter titles, I'll note the pairing in parentheses ( , ) as follows.
> 
> Posey Shepard x Garrus Vakarian: (P&G)  
> Anya Grace Hawke x Fenris: (A&F)  
> Celeste Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford: (C&C)  
> Dawn Hawke x Anders: (D&A)  
> Velwynne Lavellan x Solas: (V&S)  
> Oriana Mahariel x Zevran: (O&Z)
> 
> Find me on tumblr at @poseyshepard!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little one-shot based on a Tumblr prompt from user @cantfakethecake :~)  
> Here you go friend!!
> 
> Prompt: Person A catching Person B as they fall.

Fenris jolted out of his near-slumber at the sharp rapping on the door. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he dragged himself down the stairs, into the foyer, towards the door until his hand rested on the handle. 

“Who is it?” he slurred, hoping he’d been loud enough to be heard from his bedroom, sleep still gripping his mind like a vice. He’d been so close to getting a good nap in, and of course someone would stop by just when he’d gotten comfortable. 

“Fenris, who do you think it is? Let me in, please, it’s pouring out here.”

He swung the door open immediately, chuckling at the sight of Hawke’s drenched, golden-yellow hair plastered against her cheeks, water dripping from her nose and eyelashes as she glared down at him. With a sweep of his arm, he beckoned her inside, and she took one long step over the threshold and into the quiet dark of the mansion, shivering at the sensation of cool air rushing across damp skin. Fenris closed the door behind her, making sure to check every lock was back in place, before walking back around to face Anya. He reached up to the clasp of her cloak at the hollow of her throat, nimble fingers working it open until the cloak fell heavily from her shoulders, landing on the floor with a wet smack. 

Anya stared down in mild distaste at the her soaked garments, but then shrugged and folded her arms around Fenris’s tiny frame anyway. The elf made a small, strangled noise of disgust as she squeezed him tighter against her, grunting and muttering under his breath when she finally released him. He only had time to utter a couple of small, mild Tevinter curses before her lips pressed against his tenderly, and she grinned into the kiss. 

“I missed you,” she said with a smirk as she pulled away finally, bending down to pick her cloak up off the ground. “We hadn’t planned on sheltering with Merrill’s clan for more than a day, but those storms hit and we decided it would be best to stay put until the worst blew over.”

“And yet, you show up here dripping rainwater all over the carpet.” There was no malice in the elf’s voice as he glanced down at the dark puddle that had formed where Hawke was standing. Anya just shrugged, a devilish grin etched into her features, and sidestepped around Fenris to walk towards the main hall. Fenris followed close behind, shaking his head as he watched water pool and dribble from the tails of Hawke’s mage robes. 

His eyes couldn’t help but wander upwards from there, over the graceful curves of her hips and the slim dip of her waist. The rain had made the fabric parts of her ensemble cling just so, enticing enough that Fenris couldn’t resist the temptation to reach out in front of him and place a gentle hand against her side.

As soon as he’d put his hand on her, she fell out of his grasp again, and Anya let out a string of curses as she toppled forward.

Fenris was quick on his feet, though, and had an arm around her waist before she could hit the floor. 

“Andraste’s ass,” Hawke muttered, shuffling her feet until she could stand on her own again. “What the fuck was that?” She looked down through the gloom of the main hall, to discover exactly what she’d just tripped over. 

“Are you.... Fenris, are you fucking serious?” 

“What?” He already knew exactly what she was about to say, but tried to feign innocence or ignorance, at least for a moment. “What’s wrong, Hawke?”

“It’s been six years since you’ve lived in this mansion, and there are still  _corpses on the floor?_ ”


	2. Spices (P&G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cooking together, Shakarian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr at @poseyshepard!

Shepard looked up and down through the pantry, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. She could’ve sworn that, only a couple of days ago, there’d been plenty of levo foods and ingredients, and now the pantry seemed completely barren of anything except for a few sleeves of crackers, a packet of instant noodles, and sixteen kinds of turian spices. There was plenty of dextro meat in the refrigerator, and surely a decent amount of vegetables, so she decided to forgo any sort of fancy meal for herself. But she did pull down a few of the turian spices, and turned around to set them on the counter next to the stovetop. 

After turning the stove on and pulling out a pan to cook in, she turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a package of what Garrus had once equivocated as the turian equivalent of a human hamburger. It didn’t smell quite as nice to Posey as she tossed the meat into the pan and it began to sizzle, but she knew that it would be good for him to come home to after a long day of meetings.

When she had a  moment, she pulled up her omnitool and enabled the music function, grinning when a classical piano piece came trickling out over the speakers of the apartment. The music overtook her senses as she worked at Garrus’s meal, carefully measuring spices that she’d seen him use before and hoping to God that it was going to turn out right. Time passed slowly, and Posey found herself dividing time between preparing Garrus’s food and throwing together a salad with the small mix of levo-friendly ingredients from the refrigerator.

Suddenly there were powerful arms wrapped around her waist, and Posey let out a surprised squeak and tried to turn to get a glimpse of whoever had snuck up behind her. Garrus had her firmly held, though, so all she could do was turn her upper body as much as possible and throw a half-hearted glare at his grinning turian face. 

“Ass,” she muttered as she swatted his shoulder lightly with the spatula she held in her right hand. Garrus feigned a grave injury, eyes wincing shut and one hand coming up to rub tenderly at his shoulder.

“Now that’s no way to say hello,” he half-laughed, half-purred into her ear. He stepped up even closer, now pressed gently against her back and peppering quiet little kisses along the dip of her neck and shoulder. Posey snorted and returned her attentions to the meat sizzling on the stove. Garrus watched her work for a moment, then reached in to carefully pluck a little chunk of meat from the pan and straight into his mouth. After grimacing at the momentary burn of it, he chewed thoughtfully, savoring the tastes of the spices that she’d haphazardly thrown in hoping for the best.

“Not bad,” he smirked, pressing a kiss to the back of Posey’s head. “But here.” He reached around her to the spice bottles on the counter and picked up one full of tiny blue leaf fragments and black speckles that looked somewhat like pepper, but smelled much more bitter to Posey than spicy. 

With a careful hand and a sniper’s eye, he poured out a measure of the spice into his palm, and sprinkled it delicately over the meat. As Posey kept stirring, Garrus placed his hands over her own, really just for more contact than actively assisting in the process. When the spice had been well distributed, Garrus reached in again to grab a piece between his talons, popping it into his mouth and letting out a delighted purr. 

“There, now it’s perfect.” He pressed another gentle kiss to the back of her neck, chuckling quietly when goosebumps worked their way across her skin at the touch, and then he pulled away, leaving Posey’s back awfully cold. 

Posey scraped the now-cooked meat onto a plate with some odd-looking, purplish turian vegetable dish that had been one of the first things Garrus taught her how to cook, dextro-wise. As she did so, Garrus poured a touch of the salad dressing she’d pulled out earlier over the top of her salad, grabbed two sets of silverware, and then headed towards the couch. While Posey fished a couple of beers out of the refrigerator, she could hear the voice of a familiar newscaster from the television.

She set Garrus’s plate in front of him and plopped down gracelessly on the couch beside him, instantly curling up into his side and digging in to her salad. Garrus got to eating his own meal quickly as well, though he stared at her with an odd, slightly confused expression until Posey just shrugged. 

“We’re low on groceries.”


	3. Bubbles (P&G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sharing a bath (from tumblr user @canticleofbenedictions)

Garrus just stared, his mandibles slack in confusion.

“Uh, Posey… what are you doing?”

The only thing visible besides her face amidst the clouds of bubbles was the graceful curve of where her neck met her shoulders - everything else below was concealed by the mountains of white. Fragrance filled the air, something that Garrus had definitely smelled before on Posey’s skin but not something he could quite place.

He’d gotten home late, much later than usual. The monthly meeting with all of the turian leaders had drug out well past the allotted time, going for nearly nine hours instead of the usual five. Garrus was beyond exhausted, but it helped that he knew he would come home to sleep at Posey’s side.

Except, he’d gotten home, reheated the dinner that Posey had made for him earlier that evening, and then wearily trod upstairs only to discover that Posey wasn’t actually in their bed. Then he’d heard quiet splashing, a song being hummed, and he saw a crack of light at the door. As he approached, the door slid open with a soft hiss, and then he’d found her in this odd state of relaxation.

“It’s called taking a bath, Garrus. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen this before,” Posey mumbled, her eyes still closed as she took in deep and slow breaths. When Garrus didn’t reply, she sighed, half to herself and half to him, “It’s just a more relaxing way to shower, I guess.”

“I, uh… Okay, sure. Guess that makes sense.” It didn’t make sense to him, not really - it seemed like an awful lot of water to just sit in, and where was all the dirt supposed to go, anyways? But if it helped her relax after her long day of Council meetings, then he wasn’t about to question it.

There was a gentle splashing of water, and then she was sitting up in the tub, her eyes half-open and a smile gracing her features. “You could hop on in here, too. There’s room, if you wanted.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about soaking in the water that’s supposed to be removing all the dirt and general grossness from.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, a glint of mischief appearing as she settled back against the wall of the bath, bringing her arms up to stretch above her head.

“Suit yourself,” she murmured, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly at the stretch of her muscles. “But I will say, the water’s really warm.” Her toes appeared above the bubbles at the other end of the tub, then her ankle, then her calf as she casually lifted her leg above the water, brushing off some of the bubbles with a gentle hand. “And oh, would you look at that, gloriously naked as well. Hmm, your loss I guess.”

One lavender eye peeked open when she heard the buckles and brass of his Primarch uniform hitting the floor, and a devilish grin crept across both their faces as Garrus heaved a falsely begrudging sigh.

“Well, Posey, if you’re gonna play it that way, I guess I’ll just have to join you.”


	4. Come Back to Me (C&C)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt, "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me." (Cullen and Celeste)
> 
> My attempt at angst, I guess!

Her skin had always been fair, like porcelain, littered with freckles that he’d so often traced constellations between. A constant blush to her cheeks, always some hue of delicate pink that betrayed the embarrassments, shyness, frustration that she so often tried to hide. 

The blush was gone, now, her skin too pale, her cheeks too hollow. For four days she’d been asleep now, the barest rise and fall of her chest beneath the blankets the only indicator that she was still breathing at all. The freckles were still there, the constellations and patterns that he’d traced with a fingertip a thousand times over still the same. The etching of a scar across her chin, one at her temple, both still the same soft white lines as they’d always been. 

But even now, as she lay still and silent for another day, Cullen knew that everything about her, right down to her very core, would be different when she awoke. 

_If she awoke._  

No, _no_. There was no reason to think like that. He _couldn’t_ think like that. Dorian and Vivienne both had said that, given time, she would wake. She would survive this. Whether or not she would be okay was something that remained to be seen, but Cullen just wanted her to wake up. He could handle Celeste not being okay. He could handle her tears, her sorrow, her anger at what had transpired. At the loss of her arm, when she realized it.  What he couldn’t handle was losing her. Not now, after all they’d overcome. Ah, but who was he kidding? She’d been the real hero - _she’d_ overcome the obstacles, the trials, the vicious battles that had her in harm’s path every step of the way. 

And now here she was, at the start of what seemed to be another war for the survival of Thedas, already suffering so much for the people she had sworn to protect. 

Cullen shifted uncomfortably in the armchair that had been drawn up at her bedside. They’d put her on his side of the bed in their guest room in the Winter Palace, closest to the stairs, so that her left arm - what was left of it - could be carefully monitored for any further signs of the Anchor’s activity. It seemed silly, but out of all the things that seemed out of place about the situation, it was the simple fact that she was on the wrong side of the bed. 

If nothing else, at least she looked peaceful right now. Her forehead smooth, her mouth drawn neither down nor up but relaxed, her right arm folded gently across her stomach, fingers extended as though reaching out. 

Cullen stood from the chair and sat down gingerly on the side of the bed, heaving out a solemn breath. He ran his fingertips over the back of her hand, her knuckles, her fingernails, trying to remember what it felt like to have both of her hands entwined with his. Even after only days without the sensation, he found that, to his horror, he was already beginning to forget pieces of what life was like before Celeste had gone through that eluvian for the last time, and come back minus an appendage in the arms of her friends, who all had the fear of the Maker in their eyes as they barreled back through the eluvian into the Winter Palace. 

He wished with every breath that he could take her back home, to Skyhold, to rest and recover far away from this wretched place. But she was in no fit state to move, and everyone in the palace had been more kind and cordial than he ever would have imagined possible. It seemed that Celeste’s gentle negotiations, her sparkling reputation, her dedication to peace had paid off in more ways than one. 

A soft gasp brought his attention back to her face, and his heart broke for what he saw there. Her eyebrows were drawn in now, lips pulled back into a pained grimace and every muscle in her body tense. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, though, which was all that Cullen needed to see to know that she’d fallen back into one of her nightmares. They’d plagued her at every hour, it seemed, causing her to cry out in the middle of the night even though she still hadn’t woke once. 

Her hand was clenched in the sheets, pulling at the material with a vise-like grip. Cullen eased closer to her, bringing one hand up to brush a stray curl away from her forehead, now covered in a light sheen of sweat. 

“I’m here, Celeste,” he murmured, desperate for a way to ease her pain. His left hand took her right gently, huffing in relief when her grip slackened and her muscles relaxed again. Her face was still contorted in pain, though, from whatever her nightmares were about these days. 

Perhaps one of these days, she’d come back to coherency and be able to tell him exactly what had happened. Since even her companions weren’t sure of all the details, it would have to all come straight from her. Whenever she awoke.

“Celeste, love,” he tried again, emotion threatening to strangle his words. “Just... Maker, I don’t know. Just.... squeeze my hand, if you can hear me? If you’re still there?”

She didn’t squeeze. Nothing about her state changed, her face remained twisted in pain, her hand remained limp in his. For a moment, Cullen thought he felt one of her fingers twitch, but as the sensation was there, it was gone again with no sign of improvement.

“Please, _please_.... Come back to me.”


	5. How Could You? (D&A)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt, "How could you?" with Anders x Fem!Hawke

Six weeks. 

It had been that long - 46 days exactly, so more than six weeks, but who was counting, right? - since he’d heard her voice, her laughter, anything really more than a weary groan or a murmur in her sleep. She’d followed along silently behind him, not even talking to herself as she was usually so prone to doing. 

Dawn had never been this angry before, Anders was sure of it.

He deserved the silence, he knew that. What he had done was unforgivable, and truly he would have never guessed that she would let him live, let alone run away with him as Kirkwall fell to pieces around them. But after so much quiet, so much time left with only his own musings to occupy his thoughts, it was beginning to wear him down. He wanted - no, needed to hear her voice, even if it was just her screaming at him the way he deserved. She had every right to rage at him, to curse him for the lives that he’d taken.

But then, Anders knew that _she_ knew that raging and yelling would be futile. The actions had been executed, lives taken, innocents killed, but all in the name of a hope for some sort of future for his people. _Their_ people. And Dawn wasn’t the type to raise her voice in anger, anyway, preferring to simmer in silence until the rage quieted inside her. Anders had just never expected for her silence - and her rage - to last this long. He never expected all these sleepless nights, spent wide awake listening for even the tiniest murmurs as she slept. Indeed, he was beginning to wonder if she had a voice left at all.

But on Day 46, as the sun set and Anders set sparks to a small campfire between their two separate tents, the silence was broken. Her voice small, cracked with disuse, but still the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“How could you?”

He looked up, eyes wide, thinking that perhaps he’d just imagined the words. But she was staring into the fire, her bottom lip taken between her teeth as she awaited his answer. Her white hair hung limp around her face, tangled and dirty from their exhausting travels. For a moment, all he could do was just look at her breathlessly, feeling as though he’d been avoiding looking at her face for far too long now, afraid of the admonishment he might have found there in her eyes.

“Hawke, I… You know why I did it. There has to be a future for our people, for the mages.”

“So you kill a bunch of innocents, burn Kirkwall down in the process?” Green eyes flicked up from the fire to meet his own. “What kind of future is this asking for, Anders?”

“One where we’re treated like people, Hawke. A future where children don’t live in fear that they’ll be carted off to Maker-knows-where if they accidentally set something on fire one day without thinking about it.”

“And blowing up a Chantry is the way to achieve that, then?” Dawn scoffed and reached into her pack for a chunk of bread, which she began angrily tearing into little pieces to eat. 

“How many people were in that Chantry, Hawke? Do a headcount.”

She paused in her evisceration of the bread in her hands, brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know, Anders. 100, maybe? But that doesn’t justi -”

“100,” he interrupted wearily, “is a lot of lives taken, yes. I know. And do you think that’s something I wanted to do? You think I like blowing up buildings and killing people? I’m a healer, Hawke. All of that goes against so many of the things I believe in. But believing in the right to live freely, to love who I choose and to not be confined to a prison for all my life? That’s so much bigger than any personal desires of mine. And think about it, Hawke. 100 lives here, lost - but how many could this save?”

“You’re starting another war, Anders, don’t talk to me about how many lives will be saved.”

“It’s more than anyone else has done for the mages, Hawke. Listen, I know that you’re angry, and I understand it. Completely. I don’t fault you for hating what I’ve done, for hating me even. But I had to, and I think you know that. And if you didn’t agree with anything that I said back in Kirkwall, then you wouldn’t have followed me all this way through the wilderness. If you don’t like what I’m saying now, then you don’t have to stay. Or you can stay, and I’ll go, whatever you want. But I’m not changing my mind on whether or not this was worth it. Maybe, one day, you’ll understand. I don’t expect you to love me, Hawke, especially not after all this. But I still love you, and I will fight for our future and for the future of all mages like us.”

With a weary sigh, she stared at Anders for a few more moments, eyes narrowed as though gauging whether or not she believed him this time. When she finally accepted what he was saying, she reached back into her supplies and pulled out another hunk of bread, tossing it gently towards him. 

It wasn’t forgiveness that he saw in her eyes, Anders knew. But the rage had quieted, for now, and the sun had completely set, leaving Dawn’s face lit only by the glow of the fire. There wasn’t quite forgiveness in the way she didn’t flinch when he moved to sit closer beside her, but it was a start. 

It was a start.


	6. Well Rested (V&S)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Velwynne wonders why Cassandra and Sera didn't get very much sleep last night. Perhaps she and Solas weren't as quiet as they'd thought. (This is SFW, no worries!)
> 
> Based off the prompt "Optimistic", from tumblr user @treveleyanne. :~)

Velwynne half-stumbled out of her tent, squinting against the golden light of dawn that glanced off of the snow that lay in a thick layer over the camp. Her boots crunched through the snow as she trudged over to where the remains of last night's fire lay buried. She knelt down, shivering against the chill that seeped through her armor and into her knees as she quickly pulled back the snow and made the fire once again accessible.

The sound of rustling from the other tent drew her attention, and she looked up to see Sera's head poking out between the flaps. Her blonde hair, shaped by sleep, stuck out at odd angles, though the elf didn't look like she cared too much this early in the morning.

"Mornin', Inky," she muttered as her freckled shoulders, slightly bared by the impractical cut of her armor, then her torso appeared and she shuffled out of her tent. "Need firewood? Scouts made a pile over there some ways, I'll grab it."

"Thanks, Sera," Velwynne called out as the other elf walked off. She returned then to clearing out the snow to make enough space for a decent fire, one that would be big enough to warm them up and cook some semblance of a breakfast on.

Cassandra was the next to appear from the same tent that Sera had come from, looking pulled together and immaculate with her armor on and polished, and her hair carefully pulled up into her usual braided style. She still seemed a little groggy as she knelt beside Velwynne, helping to clear away the last little bit of snow just as Sera came crunching through the snow with an armful of logs.

The Seeker set to work, taking logs from Sera and setting them carefully into an optimal arrangement for a fire. When she'd finished, Velwynne quickly sparked a flame between her palms and let it grow for a moment, gently tossing the little ball of heat onto the wood and smiling wide as it caught.

Sera had already run back into her tent to pull out some of the food supplies, and Velwynne busied herself setting up a pot and filling it with snow. As the snow quickly melted inside the pot, eventually coming to a boil, she sat back on her haunches with a pleasant hum.

"So here's the plan, guys," she said cheerily, pulling a map out from the pack slung across her back. "They've rebuilt the bridge, so we can finally move across and take care of those dragons that we've been getting reports of. There's probably some Red Templars, too, but it'll at least be fun! Plus, three dragons in one day! Oh, Bull will be _so_ disappointed that he missed out on this trip."

"Three dragons? The fuck are you on about, Inky?" Sera quipped as she sat across the fire from Velwynne. "You know tha's a shit idea, yeah? One dragon's fine and all, but maybe we wait for the rest. Plus I _know_ you said somethin' 'bout one of 'em hatching little teeny baby dragons. Those little buggers are the worst. Bring Bull and Beardy along to deal with them, yeah? I think tha's a good idea."

"I'm sure we can handle it, Sera. We'll just have to be careful, that's all." Velwynne turned to Cassandra just as the Seeker let out a massive yawn. With a chuckle, she cocked an eyebrow. "Getting a slow start there this morning, Cassandra?"

"Inquisitor, you are in an _awfully_ good mood this morning. What's got you so **optimistic** about dealing with not one, but three dragons in the span of a day?"

"Just... well rested, that's all. Finally getting a decent night's sleep will do a lot of good, you know?"

"Yes, well, I'm so glad _you_ slept well," came Cassandra's barely-audible muttered reply.

"What do you mean by that, Cassandra?"

The Seeker's cheeks flushed at the question. "Oh. I, ah... I. Um. I simply mean that I did not sleep well last night. That's all."

"She means that we couldn't sleep last night with you buggers gettin' on with each other."

Velwynne fought the urge to scream in horror, instead resorting to covering both of her blushing ears with her hands. "You.... you heard all that?"

Sera and Cassandra both nodded groggily. But Cassandra's blush took the edge of her severity, and Sera looked on the verge of bursting into giggles at both Velwynne's and the Seeker's half-mortified expressions.

"Oh. I'm, uh, sorry we kept you up, Sera. We thought you were both sound asleep."

"Wish I was, Inky, wish I was," Sera muttered, shaking her head and staring into the fire. "He makes all sorts of weird noises, huh? Like that little gaspy thing, with the kinda squeak -"

"Stop this discussion. Please." Cassandra's cheeks were red as roses as she begged Sera to quiet, and Velwynne had a suspicion it wasn't just from the biting cold.

"Gettin' all bothered there, eh Seeker?" the younger elf snickered behind a hand, eyes full of mirth. Cassandra reached out to smack her lightly on the arm, but froze when they heard the rustling of another tent flap.

Solas stretched serenely as he stood up outside the tent that he'd shared with Velwynne the night before, already clad in his armor and draped with a large, thick blanket. His eyes met Velwynne's first, and the sly crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the mischievious tilt of his smile confirmed all the suspicions that Sera and Cassandra had about what had transpired the night before.

His eyes then passed to the younger elf and the Seeker, who were staring at him with eyes wide open and mouths slack-jawed. A nervous flush crept across his nose, his cheekbones, all the way up to the tips of his slender, pointed ears, and he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as he looked back and forth between them.

"May I ask what it is you've all been discussing? You look like disobedient children, all huddled around the fire and whispering like that."

"Oh, nothing," Velwynne said with her most innocent of smiles, patting the ground next to her in the snow. He sat down with an elegant crossing of limbs and wrapped his blanket around Velwynne's shoulders. When he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, she shrugged, and continued on to say, "We were just discussing elven glory."


	7. Don't Stop on My Account (O&Z)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt, "Don't stop on my account" submitted by @treveleyanne. :~)

Oriana turned around, her tunic halfway off, as she heard the rustling of fabric which meant that someone else was in her tent. "Can I help you?" she bit out, a little too sharp, her ears drooping in embarrassment when she realized that it was only Zevran, come to check on her.

"I thought I could perhaps, ah, help you, as it were," the Antivan said with a gentle smile, and not the usual predatory smirk that she would have expected. She snorted nonetheless, pulling her tunic back over her head to maintain some semblance of being dressed.

"Not tonight, Zevran." His face fell a tiny bit as she sighed, scratching at her scalp with both hands. "It was a long trip, and as much as I'd like some stress relief right now, I'm exhausted."

He held his hands up, though he smiled again a little bit. "No worries, my dear Warden. I did not mean to suggest anything that would require your. . . exertions.  I thought you could perhaps use a massage. But if you would rather not it, it is no trouble. I am at your service, however you may need me."

Oriana's brow smoothed as she pondered the offer. "That. . . that sounds really nice, actually. Yeah, that'd be delightful." Zevran chuckled quietly as he took a step forward, closing the entrance of the tent behind him. His hands were gentle as they rested at Oriana's waist, pulling her flush to his chest and pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead.

"I'm very glad you're back," he murmured into her hair as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. "I was only a little worried that you might meet some fine dwarven fellow whose bed you preferred to share."

Oriana snorted as she leaned back, her nose wrinkled up in distaste. "Well, we did bring back a dwarf, but he's, uh. . . Not someone I'd like to be close to. In _any_ sense of the word. He's filthy." Zevran laughed, shaking his head.

"I think I may have smelled him when you returned. He certainly is. . . pungent. Rather reminiscent of a tavern that sits right next to a slaughterhouse, I would say."

"That's disgusting."

"But you agree, yes?"

She smirked and pulled away, kicking her blanket aside from her bedroll and kneeling down on the pallet she'd made for herself. Zevran followed, sitting beside her and pulling off his leather gloves to set them in the corner.  He then moved to pull off his boots, setting them in a neat pile with his gloves, before carefully pulling Oriana's boots off of both of her feet. She yawned and leaned back into the bedroll, letting out a quiet sigh when he pressed deft fingers into the ball of one of her feet. He slowly worked his way up, kneading into her calves, her shins, the tops of her thighs, until his fingertips brushed against the hem of her tunic.

He paused there, waiting for her to open her eyes and give him permission to continue. She chuckled when their eyes met, stretching her arms above her head with a contented groan, before placing her hands over Zevran's own where they lay at her hips. " **Don't stop on my account** ," she said quietly, a sleepy smile working its way across her face. Zevran grinned, his fingers pushing her tunic up until he could pull it off over her head. He turned around to fold her tunic and set it amongst her other belongings, taking care to keep it separated from her cleaner clothing.

But as he returned to continue massaging Oriana, he realized that, in the few moments he'd taken to fold her tunic up and put it away, she'd fallen fast asleep, her mouth slightly open and the softest snore coming from between parted lips. Zevran chuckled quietly, shaking his head, though he didn't mind at all. She deserved a rest, after months in the Deep Roads with that fragrant dwarf that he'd caught a whiff of earlier. Zevran carefully and quietly removed his leather armor, stowing it beside his other things. Clad still in his leggings and tunic, he lay down beside Oriana and pulled the blankets up over them. With his arms wrapped around her, he pressed one more kiss to her forehead, and let himself succumb to as deep a slumber as hers.


	8. Graceful (V&G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece for OC Kiss Month (bc a week wasn't long enough for all these festivities!), featuring tumblr user @snidy's kiddo Garrin and my Velwynne!
> 
> Companion!Velwynne AU.

In all of Velwynne's years, she had never been stuffed into anything half as ridiculous as the outfit she now wore. She appreciated the  effort on Josephine's part, certainly - it was, after all, at least an attempt at preserving her Dalish heritage in the middle of the Orlesian court. But her corset was cinched impossibly tight, and the emerald feathers that adorned the cape draped across her shoulders had been driving her absolutely mad the entire evening. Every so often she'd see one of the feathers float off gracefully into the midst of swirling people, caught up in the flow of dancers and schemers as they moved throughout the palace. The long, graceful skirt that twined around her ankles when she moved was an entirely new and foreign concept, so much looser than the Dalish robes she'd worn back at home, or the rugged leather armor that the Inquisitor had provided upon Velwynne's recruitment into the Inquisition. The dress, though, she could mostly deal with.

It was the shoes that were the real problem, here. To anyone else, the slender heel would have been elegant, simple, and quite easy to manage. But Velwynne rarely wore shoes even in the worst of conditions before coming to Skyhold, and had never before been subject to the abject horror of walking on her tiptoes for an entire evening. She felt ridiculous, wobbling about as she searched for drinks. The crowd had thankfully thinned out quite a bit as the evening went on, especially with so many people scandalized by the murder of the Empress and the announcement that Gaspard would now rule. The Inquisition, at least, took comfort in the fact that Briala would be working behind the scenes, doing her part to fix the mess that was Orlesian politics. But it had been exhausting getting everything together, following Nahris's orders, allowing the assassination of an Empress. The entire party was tired, and itching to put an end to the evening and retire to their rooms for the night.

Josephine, however, insisted that they remain for just a while longer. And Nahris didn't seem to mind, if the brilliant grin on her face was any indicator. Velwynne caught glimpses through the crowd of the Inquisitor swirling about the dance floor, in the arms of a beautiful taller elven woman. They'd been inseparable for the past hour, stirring up all sorts of delicious gossip between the Orlesians that Velwynne had been listening in on for entertainment. The Game was certainly something she could get behind, and she was sure that there would be many overheard secrets to laugh about with Nahris once they returned to Skyhold.

Not all of the Inquisition members were so comfortable with the Game, however. In fact, some of them seemed absolutely miserable the entire evening. Garrin had disappeared early on, probably pressed up into a corner to draw as little attention as possible. But now that the crowd had thinned, Velwynne considered searching him out, perhaps passing him a drink to calm his nerves. She'd assumed that it would be easy to spot him amongst fewer people, with his height, but Vel was having trouble even seeing over the shoulders of many of the Orlesians, much less spotting the familiar sandy-blonde curls that were so unique to Garrin.

Velwynne reached out to a passing server, taking two glasses of champagne as the elf stopped and nodded, with a polite smile. As she walked off to find Garrin, Velwynne passed a word of thanks over her shoulder, and indulged in a sip of the crisp drink. The bubbles put a perk in her unsteady steps as she continued her search, peering around masked figures and elven servants, checking the dark corners and secluded hallways. Still no sign of Garrin.

With a resigned sigh, she walked towards one of the side balconies, with half a mind to finish both of the champagne glasses she was holding. Just as she began to consider the ramifications of getting absolutely hammered in the Winter Palace, she caught sight of a familiar figure, reclining against the railing of the balcony she'd been heading towards. His face was hidden, turned out towards the Orlesian countryside, and his shoulders moved as though he were taking deep, steadying breaths. Vel walked a little faster, doing her best not to stumble like an idiot and spill the champagne.

The click of her heels on the marble flooring caught his attention, and Garrin turned just as she neared his shoulder. His face softened when he realized that it was her, not some other Orlesian come to bother him, and he accepted the champagne with a relieved smile. "Hey, Vel."

"Thought you could use a drink," Velwynne said with a smirk, inclining her glass towards his in a toast. He scoffed at that, his eyes rolling as he pressed his back against the railing.

"One drink, or twelve maybe," he replied, taking a long, indulgent sip. "Orlais is ridiculous." With his free hand, he brushed his hair back from his face, holding the curls there as he let out a long breath. Velwynne felt her confidence falter for a moment as he continued. "I can't wait to get back to Skyhold, away from all this mess."

"I'll second that. I've had about enough of the muttered elven slurs that these nobles are so fond of. Though I have overheard some interesting things, a few in particular about the de Launcets. And at least Nahris is having a good time out there, with Revas."

A quiet grunt of agreement was his only reply, and they fell into an easy and companionable silence as they sipped on their champagne. The rest of Velwynne's drink didn't last long, however, so her attention turned to Garrin. His hair was much longer than she'd realized now that he'd left it down, curling across his shoulders and looking soft enough to touch. She thought about it, about how it would feel to wrap those curls around her fingers, but then she pushed those thoughts away, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks. Before she could avert her eyes to the ground, Garrin looked down at her, noting her expression.

"You okay, there?" he said quietly, his eyebrows drawn in concern.

"Yeah, yeah," Velwynne half-laughed, "I'm good. Fine. Great, actually."

Garrin didn't look convinced at all, but he shrugged and took another sip from his glass. Vel took a deep breath, gathering her courage. Why was she so nervous? It was just Garrin. Tall, strong, quiet, approachable Garrin.

"Your, uh, your hair looks really nice," she finally managed, feeling absolutely absurd at the waver in her voice. "I've never seen it down like that."

It was his turn to blush, pink creeping across the bridge of his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears as he looked away, back towards the ballroom. "Oh. Yeah, that. I, uh... Nahris made me do it." He raised a hand to rub nervously at the back of his neck, his other hand tightening on the stem of his champagne glass.

"It looks good, though. You should wear it like this more often."

A bashful little smile pulled at his features, but his eyes remained trained on the ballroom. For just a few moments, there was a view of the dance floor, and Velwynne once again caught sight of Nahris and Revas leading each other through an elegant turn. The image sparked an idea, and she steeled herself with a steadying breath, setting her empty glass down on the railing behind her.

"So, Garrin?"

"Yes?" The blush hadn't faded from his ears entirely, but he was able to meet her eyes now.

"Did you get a chance to dance with anyone tonight?"

His chocolate-brown eyes widened in surprise, and he fumbled for words a few moments, turning around to look back towards the rolling hills beyond the balcony. "I, um... No, I don't dance."

"Oh come on, we all know Josie gave everyone lessons. You couldn't be _that_ bad. But I suppose you mean that no one here has particularly drawn your interest?"

Garrin set his champagne glass down carefully on the railing, his other hand gripping the marble tight. "I didn't say that." Velwynne saw her chance and seized it, ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart against her sternum, taking his hand in hers and pulling him to the center of the balcony.

"Care for a dance, maybe?" She glanced up, hoping to see anything but horror at the suggestion. But he seemed more flustered than anything, trying and failing to get out a complete sentence. She chuckled at his rekindled blush, noting the freckles that stood out against his bronzed skin. As she waited for some semblance of an answer, be it acceptance or even refusal, her eyes traced over the lighter vallaslin that marked his cheeks and brow. The markings of Mythal, the protector. How appropriate, for all those times he'd thrown himself in front of a comrade, one who had made too many rash decisions and landed themselves in deep trouble. Velwynne could think of more than a few times that he'd done so for her, and she remembered all too well the fervent lectures he'd given her afterwards.

"It's okay if you don't want to, Garrin," she murmured, looking back down at his armored chest. When he grew silent, no longer stumbling for words, Velwynne took a careful step backwards, dropping his hand. She looked down at the skirt of her dress, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish, too forward. With a quiet sigh and a muttered, "Never mind," she turned to walk back into the ballroom.

A calloused hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back towards him,  but as she turned the skirts of her gown tangled around her ankles. Down she went, letting out a gasp of surprise and pain as her knees hit the marbled floor.

"Shit, Vel!" Garrin was beside her in an instant, his hands on her shoulders, gently helping her to sit down. "You okay?"

She couldn't help but laugh, covering her face with her hands. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she chuckled, peeking through her fingers to inspect the skirt of her dress. No scuffs or dirt, no tears. The hem had slid up to her ankles as she'd sat down, revealing the elegant silvered heels that had caused so much trouble this evening. With deft hands she reached down, tugged at the laces of the shoes, and tossed them off towards the corner of the balcony. After wiggling her toes and letting out a sigh of relief, she pushed herself back up, finding herself standing in front of a highly amused Garrin once again. Only now, she had to look up a little farther, no longer benefiting from the extra three inches of height that her shoes had provided.

"Are you always this graceful?" Garrin smirked, and Velwynne felt her ears droop a little bit.

"It's just those shoes," she quipped, eyebrows drawn in a playful glare. "You know I don't normally stumble around like a newborn halla. I can be quite graceful when I feel like it."

"Oh, of course, like that time you fell on your ass last week in the Emprise."

"Hey!" Velwynne smacked his arm gently, face breaking into a grin. "There was ice everywhere."

"Excuses, excuses."

"You ass," she muttered back affectionately.

"But really," Garrin said, his voice softer now as the concern returned to his eyes. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine, Garrin. Honestly. It wasn't even your fault, just those damn shoes."

"I did sort of pull you, though," he chuckled, running a hand through his tousled curls again. "My bad."

Velwynne shook her head, waving away his concern. "I'm okay, really. But..." A mischievous smile crept across her face. "You could make it up to me. With a dance."

He blushed again, but his grin remained. In lieu of a verbal answer, Garrin's hand settled gently against the curve of Velwynne's waist. "I suppose I could manage one dance." She stepped closer, taking his free hand in hers, and resting her other hand up on his shoulder.

In a moment of boldness, Garrin's hand moved a little further, pressing against the small of her back to pull her closer. Velwynne's eyebrow raised playfully, though the blush in her cheeks betrayed her nerves.

The music from the ballroom was just loud enough to be heard out on the balcony, providing a slow, lyrical rhythm for the pair to sway too. They didn't move much, just careful steps back and forth, but it was relaxing. A moment of quiet, one that they hadn't been afforded the entire evening. Tiny circles, contented and quiet breaths, a few minutes of respite from the chaos of their everyday lives.

As the sound of instruments faded down, the voices of the people in the ballroom raised to a dull roar, signaling an end to the evening. Velwynne looked up from where her cheek had been resting against Garrin's armored chest, emerald eyes meeting his brown ones.

"Thank the Creators," he breathed, smiling softly. "The nobles are leaving." Vel nodded, a shy grin on his face to match her own. Their movement slowed to a stop, the air grew still around them, and Velwynne did the most impulsive thing she'd ever done. With swift, sure movements, she reached up, caught hold of the collar of Garrin's attire, and pulled him down to press her lips against his. He let out a small sound of surprise and she felt his cheeks grow hot, but he settled into the kiss quickly enough, his hands finding her waist and pulling her that much closer. And, finally, Vel learned what it felt like to tangle her fingers into those curls.

When she pulled away and released his collar, he remained hunched over for a moment, hands lingering at her sides. With breathless laughter and the broadest smirk, Velwynne pressed another kiss to his nose, turned, dashed to the corner to grab her shoes, and then glided from the balcony with easy steps, heart pounding like a lovestruck teen the entire time.


	9. Collapse (V&G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sad elf hugs with @snidy's beatiful boy, Garrin!! <3 she made a beautiful piece of sad valentine's art and it sparked an idea for another fic featuring these two (i'm so invested in her twinquisitors it's shameful really)

Velwynne hummed quietly to herself as she wrapped each individual paintbrush carefully, laying them all neatly in a row in the box she’d set out. The paints had already been packaged when she’d purchased them at the market in Val Royeaux, so she had no trouble placing them in with the brushes. When she was satisfied with how everything was wrapped, she closed the box and fastened the lid’s delicate silver clasp, running her fingertips over the intricate Dalish designs that had been engraved into the top of the box. 

It was perfect, as far as she could tell - the last time she’d seen Garrin’s stock of art supplies, it had been lacking a few new brushes, and it would never hurt to throw in some watercolors in shades she hadn’t seen him use before. After the month they’d all had, between Adamant and long weeks of travel and the tensions that inevitably arose from both of these things, Velwynne had figured that Garrin could use a distraction from his duties in assisting Nahris with the fallout of her decisions at Adamant. 

She hefted the box under her arm and set out from her bedroom, descending the stairs into the garden and taking in a deep breath of fresh air. It was empty, unusual for this time of day but much appreciated for the moment of solitude that it offered. The scent of crystal grace wafted through the area, putting a spring in her step as she paused, trying to think about where Garrin might be just then. Usually he would be here, in the garden, or in his bedroom. But perhaps he was near the tavern, speaking with Harding about something or other. 

Just as she entered the throne room to begin her search, however, she heard a slamming of doors and shouting in cracked voices. She turned towards the source, eyes widening at the sight of the Inquisitor and her brother walking quickly past the throne and towards Nahris’s quarters. Nahris was stone-faced and silent, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she tried to outwalk Garrin to her door. The length of his legs enabled him to pass her fairly easily, and he placed himself between Nahris and the door to stop her from going in. 

Velwynne moved closer with tentative steps, trying her hardest to be quiet in the hall that had now fallen silent save for the sharp breathing of the twins at the other end of the room. As she got as close as she thought appropriate in this situation, she realized that Garrin had been crying, tracks down his face where tears had fallen what must have been only moments ago. His ears were drooping, his hands on Nahris’s shoulders with a harsh grip as he stared her down, eyes looking as though he were searching for something in his sister’s face. 

“Gone, Nahris, do you understand? All of them. They’re all gone, because you couldn’t bear to be patient or subtle for once in your damn life!”

The Inquisitor didn’t even flinch at his words, instead reaching one hand up to try to get to the door handle. Garrin moved to cover it, his voice cracking as he choked out, “Do you even care?”

“Of course I care!” Nahris snapped back, taking one step away from her brother. “How could you say that?”

“Then fucking act like it!”

A heavier, darker silence fell over the hall then, as the twins glared each other down for what seemed like forever. But eventually, Nahris stepped back towards Garrin, staring up at him and daring him not to move. He relented, letting out an angry sigh as he turned away from her and stalked down the length of the throne room. Nahris’s door opened and closed with enough force to jolt all those who had heard and seen the argument, sending everyone back into a flurry of activity to cover the fact that they’d been openly and shamelessly eavesdropping. 

As Garrin drew closer to Velwynne, she held out a hand and called his name gently. He walked past her, and for a moment Vel thought that perhaps he hadn’t heard her. Or that maybe he had chosen to ignore her for the moment, which would have been just as likely. But then he stopped, sighed, and said quietly over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the gardens if you need me.” He then walked off briskly towards the door that Vel had entered the throne room through, leaving her standing slightly stunned with her gift for Garrin in her hands. 

The normal bustle of the throne room slowly returned. Velwynne hesitated to follow Garrin, but decided that it was at least worth asking him what had happened. He rarely snapped so severely, especially at Nahris, and especially in such a public place. His tearstained cheeks had rattled her, and she had the distinct feeling that something truly awful had happened. She gathered her courage and went back through the door to the garden, locking it behind her so that no random scout or messenger would come through and disturb them. 

He was on his knees in front of a freshly-bloomed crystal grace flower, slender fingers tracing the petals delicately in repetitive, mindless motions. The grass crunched just enough under Velwynne’s feet to alert him of her presence, and he stood as soon as he realized she was there. Suddenly feeling very silly with the box still in her hands, she set it down on a nearby bench and came back, crossing her arms over her chest to mimic his own stance. She didn’t say a word, waiting for him to speak, if he wanted to do so. 

It was a long time before he did. Silent, deep breaths, in and out, a few embarrassed swipes at his cheeks with the backs of his hands to clear away the tears that remained there. But then, a shuddering inhale, and a heartbroken whisper. 

“They’re gone, Vel.”

She let the statement settle in the air, watching him for any indication that he might say more. When it seemed as though that were all he wanted - or was able - to say, Velwynne took a step closer, tilting her head so that she could meet his red-rimmed eyes. 

“Who’s gone? What’s going on? Garrin, what happened?” 

“Nahris and that damned Commander Rutherford,” Garrin muttered, looking away from Vel and down at the ground. “There was an issue with some Marcher noble, our clan was in danger. I told her to send Leliana’s agents in there but she just wouldn’t fucking listen to me, and now they’re dead, and it’s like she doesn’t even care! She caused this!”

Vel reached out tentatively to put a hand on his forearm, strengthening the curl of her fingers when he didn’t flinch away. “Who, Garrin? Who’s dead?” 

Another couple of tears trickled slowly down his cheeks, flushed with distress. With the hand that wasn’t on his arm, she reached up and brushed them away gently, cupping his cheek when the tears were momentarily dried. 

“Everyone,” he said with a shaky breath. “Pan, Wyn, the Keeper, all of them…” Another inhale, a stifled sob. “Our clan’s been killed, Vel.”

Her heart fell, tears springing to her eyes as the weight of his words hit her. She was stunned into silence, her mouth falling open and the air rushing out of her lungs. Garrin’s eyes closed, his strength failing him as the tears started anew. He slumped forward, his arms going instinctively around Velwynne’s smaller frame and holding on for dear life, just barely able to support himself as he let emotions run free. Vel kept him up with all her strength, her arms squeezing him just as tight. For the longest time, he just cried into the shoulder of her tunic, his fingers biting into her shoulder and side as he held her like she was one of the few things he had left. Vel let him cry, not speaking or moving, even as tears of sympathy left her own eyes. 

  
They stayed like that for what may have been a minute or an hour, but eventually Garrin pulled away, breathing heavily from the effort of crying. Velwynne led him wordlessly to the bench and set aside the box of paintbrushes she’d been intending to give him, knowing that it was a gift for another time. They sat down on the bench, and Vel hoped that her proximity at least would be enough to dull the pain, if only for the moment. She knew that she would need to speak with Nahris, and that Garrin would have to confront his sister about this eventually, one-on-one where no one could hear them arguing. But for now, Vel embraced the quiet of the garden, and Garrin let his head rest against her shoulder, too tired to keep his eyes open anymore. She reached for his hand slowly, squeezing it as reassuringly as she could manage, until they’d both drifted to sleep with their hands intertwined and their faces, for the moment, dry of tears.


End file.
